


your lovers would be hunting you

by CigaretteHeart



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Captivity, Complicated Power Dynamics, Do Not Archive, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Hamid Has a Tail, M/M, Objectification, Pegging, Rape/Non-con Elements, another other london, complicated trauma processing, dark sasha saga, dead dove do not eat, hamid's daddy issues, manipulation and leveraging power in a deeply awful situation, sasha has a strap, weird gender feels mixing with weird identity feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CigaretteHeart/pseuds/CigaretteHeart
Summary: (1C 2C 3D 4D 5C, to use the Another Other London scale)Hamid, a luxury item under ownership of the Racket gang, is woken up by Sasha, who is drunk and philosophical and has stolen something of Barret's.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Barret Racket, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Sasha Racket
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16
Collections: Another Other London





	your lovers would be hunting you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to skvadern for the beta.
> 
> Things that caused this:
> 
> \- The Another Other London prompts; I just love the idea that a bunch of people can take a simple concept and run with it in different directions to explore different aspects of beloved characters.
> 
> \- The throw away line in Episode 11 where Barret mentions that he's met Hamid's father - once - and is just dripping with venom about it.

"Oh," Hamid says, faintly surprised. "You're drunk."

"I'm _upset_ , is what I am," Sasha corrects, only somewhat slurring her words. "D'you know, d'you – I spent three quid on the worst rotgut I ever tried." Sasha raises a notably empty green bottle. "It's eating my insides right now, like. Like it had little miniature rats in it or something."

She slams the bottle down on the bedside table, making Hamid squeak in alarm. The bottle wobbles precariously but manages to stay upright.

Sasha is doing a better job at that than the bottle, but only a little bit. "Should've just nicked a bottle out from Barret's desk again, but last time he caught on to it." She shrugs. "Point is, here I am, drunk and in his bedwarmer's… bed. Warmed. Room." Sasha looks up at the ceiling and frowns.

Hamid finds he's pulled his quilt up to his chin like a scandalized great-aunt. He takes a soothing breath and lowers it back down to his waist as casually as he can, trying not to draw Sasha's attention. He's gone from groggy to alert far quicker than he should have to, but unfortunately, that’s a necessary adaptation in Other London. She won't be leaving, and what's worse, whatever it is she wants means he won't get back to bed for awhile. He knows this game. He knows the rules, somewhat.

Sasha's drunk enough to break into a lecherous grin as her eyes rake over his bared chest. Hamid takes a breath and does his best to keep his composure under her scrutiny. 

"Gods, Hamid." The gravity and compassion in her voice quivers with the effort of holding in a laugh. "He doesn't even let you have _clothing_."

"I _like_ sleeping like this," Hamid says indignantly. "And anyhow, I've got pants on."

Sasha shoots him a pitying look. "That all?"

There _is_ also the green velvet bow tied around the lovely mop of curls at the very tip of Hamid's tail, but he finds himself somewhat conflicted about its existence and how much he thinks it's actually quite nice. Mentioning it right now will only lead to confused babbling, crying, or both.

"I'm in bed," he says irritably. "You can't expect someone to wear a full suit to sleep, now can you?"

He worries she'll keep picking at him until she finds a vulnerable spot to sink her teeth into, but instead Sasha shrugs a shoulder. "Yeah, alright." She plunks herself down at the foot of his bed, not particularly gentle. "Hamid, you haven't – you haven't asked where _my_ pants are."

Hamid doesn't answer, but when it becomes clear the statement isn't rhetorical, that it is in fact demanding he participate, he winces and accepts his fate. "Under your trousers, I'd presume?"

Sasha's grin twists bigger and broader. "Y'wanna bet?"

He doesn't, not that Sasha waits for an answer. She peels her trousers off with impressive speed and kneels up on his bed.

"Tada!" she says gleefully, motioning to the black leather harness strapping on…yep. There it is.

Hamid groans and buries his head in his hands. "You stole Barret's cock."

"He's got another!" Sasha crosses her arms over her chest. "This is the one he _wasn't_ using."

Hamid flops back onto his pillows with a mad little laugh. "This is it. This is how I die. As an unwilling accomplice to dildo-related crimes."

Sasha's fingers skip over the quilt, walk up Hamid's legs and stomach. "We'd have to get caught first."

"Again, _unwilling_ accomplice." Hamid clutches the quilt and wonders if he'd be so bold with her if he wasn't so tired, if she wasn't clearly inebriated enough to slip off some of the hard, vicious persona she covers herself with.

"Aw, mate, come off it. You're not dumb enough to think what you want matters." Her tone is still jovial; they could be friends. They could be talking about a book one of them loved and the other didn't, not Sasha tugging at the quilt Hamid doesn't want to let go of. "C'mon. I got – I got some things to practice."

Hamid exhales nervously and lets her wrench the blankets from his hands. The cold hits his skin, immediately pricking it into gooseflesh. He watches how she catalogues everything from his chin down to his feet, greedily drinking in every detail. Her fingertips skim over him: gently at first, then bolder, pressing down and tracing the muscles of his shoulders and arms, tangling in the fuzz on his chest and stomach.

"You're like a little furnace!" Sasha exclaims happily. "His little bedwarmer, eh?" She finds the bit of extra padding around his stomach and squeezes until he gasps. "He could sell you, y'know that? Rent you out to all us poor bastards dying from the cold."

Hamid is very glad Barret does not.

"He'll show up here tonight, see if he doesn't." She cups his clothed cock, rubs it until it responds, becomes interested. "Crawl into bed and shove his hands between your legs so his joints don't ache like all the rest of ours do."

Hamid finally breaks when she starts jerking his pants down. "This is _weird._ " A tug gets them over his hips, and another down his knees. "S-sasha? You know that, right?"

"This isn't weird - _Barret's_ the weird one." Sasha interrupts herself with a triumphant shout as she wrenches Hamid's pants off fully. "Like- here, why does he even have this?!" She sits back on her heels and motions to the dildo she's wearing. "When did he decide, I'm going to pay someone to _make_ this, to get all the details _right-_ why. Why did he need it to be a replica? We've got to ask ourselves, Hamid: what does he have this _for?_ "

"We. We don't _actually_ have to ask ourselves that," Hamid counters.

"I guess, but I- I've _seen_ when he makes you use it while he watches. Y'know?" Sasha's eyes focus on his, then, the hunger in them as sharp as her daggers. "Or the thing where he sticks it on a wall so he can fuck you in both ends at the same time." A small flare of her nostrils, like she's scenting him, and whatever she finds makes her lick her lips.

Hamid curls in on himself as slowly as he can under Sasha's hungry gaze. "Yes, Sasha," he says quietly. "I'm aware."

"And the thing is, the thing is," she goes on, a little more intense, a little more loud. "You love it, too, right? And you callin' me the weird one. Mate, I've _seen_ you put on a show for him." She leans close, the rotgut on her breath like a punch to the face. "Heard how you moan when he tells you how he wants you to please yourself."

This is technically also true, but that doesn't make it easier to cope with, and Sasha isn't exactly his favorite choice of ‘other person to process complex trauma with.’ Hamid wills his face into blankness, staring into the darkness somewhere above Sasha's head.

This goes poorly.

Sasha makes a dissatisfied noise and flips Hamid over onto his stomach, no warning and no chance for him to protest more than a whine before she's pushing against the back of his head, muffling him with a pillow.

"Hang on, there's this – there's this thing I saw." He can feel her groping at his tail until she manages to wrap her hand around it the way she wants, her thumb rubbing against the underside close to where it splits off from the rest of his spine. Which. Fair enough.

Hamid whimpers and manages to get up onto his knees so he can actually breathe, so he has a bit of leverage in his motions, and admittedly to give Sasha a better angle. "Wait, what're you-"

Sasha cries out in triumph and jerks, fist closed around the base of his tail. Hamid inhales sharply as the motion forces his hips to tilt up and his thighs to open.

"There we go," Sasha purrs. "Ohhh, lovely, look at you."

Sasha's fingers are cold and dry. She traces them down the underside of Hamid's tail, between his arse cheeks until they find his hole and rub against it. Not trying to get inside, just.

Studying.

"That's why he does it," Sasha murmurs. "It makes you push back like – like you need it, gods."

Hamid's embarrassment has yet to manifest by setting the sheets on fire, but he feels as though it's close. This encounter has the exact same energy to it as a dissection, as someone learning how to work a machine or cast a spell. Cause and effect.

Pull here and your new toy will present for you.

Hamid shoves his face against his arms, trying to steady his breathing. Sasha's mumbling to herself again, and he can only catch half of what she says, but he definitely registers the sound of her uncorking a vial of oil.

Her fingers return, no longer dry but still quite cold.

Hamid whimpers. A long finger slips inside and he's not able to stop the injured sound that rips from his throat, especially not when she takes it as permission to keep going, pressing in further. There’s enough oil that the burn of the stretch quickly evens out into a delicious pleasure.

"Look at you," she breathes out. "Gods, you want it so much, don't you?"

She doesn't really want an answer, so instead he bites his lower lip and gives her his reaction. He pushes back onto her, groaning low in his throat when she adds a second finger.

"I get it now," she's saying. "I get what you make him feel when he's got you like this."

"Sasha—"

"Making me feel it, too." Sasha's lips brush against a spot over Hamid's spine, between his shoulder blades. It's the same spot Barrett likes to kiss when he's in the same position she's in right now. "I get it, now."

The cold press of the dildo, slick but unyielding, steals the breath from him as Sasha breaches him. Her body blankets Hamid's, arms braced on either side of him. Her breath is warm against the top of his head. "I get what's so special about you."

Hamid laughs shakily. Or sobs. He can't tell. The idea that this could be some twisted jealousy being acted out is more than he can cope with at this moment, not with the way Sasha is still tugging his tail with one hand, gripping his hip with the other. She uses them both to start him moving, rocking back onto the cock she's wearing.

"Hamid, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan." She murmurs his name slowly, careful to hit every syllable like the pins in a lock. "Pretend – look, just pretend I'm saying it like he does, right?"

This gets an honest to gods laugh out of him, genuine if not exactly happy. Even drunk, even predatory, Sasha is still so damned awkward.

It's reassuring, almost.

"He – ah – he does have a tendency to use my full name at least once during sex, doesn't he?" And it is funny, enough that Hamid falls forward onto his arms, laughing despite Sasha still grinding into him. "Barret Racket is _predictable._ "

"Aw, it's a class issue." Sasha goes to the spot between Hamid's shoulder blades again, licks it this time and follows with a scrape of her teeth. "Gets him going to remember he's about to do Saleh al-Tahan's son up the arse."

That cuts Hamid's laughter off. For a few moments, there's nothing but the sound of Sasha's soft grunts and the slap of her hips against Hamid's.

"Class issue?" Hamid says, finally.

"Yeah, that's the thing, right?" Sasha draws back and slides in, movements slow and measured. "The second your dad finds out you're in Other London, he'll figure Barret's found some way to get his hands on you, one way or another. Might not know exactly what's being doing to you, but I bet he can guess." One of her hands slips between Hamid's thighs, brushes over his neglected cock, wraps around him to soothe the aching need with a slow stroke, but he can’t quite focus on it.

"Class issue," Hamid repeats.

"Yeah, more of a grudge match, to be honest." This is so conversational. They could be discussing the weather instead of Sasha thrusting into him, mimicking a rhythm she's seen from across the room or on the opposite side of the desk. "Don't know that I blame him. Like, if a man gets you arrested, turning one of his sons into your personal bedwarmer seems pretty satisfying in a deep long-waited-revenge way, right?"

"When- when did that…?" Hamid twists a bit to look at Sasha properly, or tries to. She's mostly shrouded in darkness still, in that way she does.

"Aw, I don't know it all, mate. Few decades before either you or me were breathing air." Sasha rears back to give a look to where she's entering him. Her thumb rubs where Hamid's stretched around her, slick and pliant now. "I know Barret thought he had him right in the palm of his hand, then bam, your old dad rats him out and Barret's in Newgate and has to dig his way back home." Sasha slows the motion of her hips, then pauses entirely. "Er. Y'good?"

Hamid doesn't really know how to reply. What comes out in a small voice is, "I just – I never knew. Think it's hitting me a bit hard." And, Hamid doesn't add, this is a hell of a thing to learn while being fucked up the arse by Barret's niece.

"Here, take a breath." She pulls out in a quick move that makes Hamid gasp, leaves him embarrassingly aching and empty, and sits back on her heels to examine the harness. "I gotta, I gotta fix this before I keep going."

Hamid shuffles onto his side, peers at what Sasha is doing and, well. In spite of everything, his cock gives an interested twitch when she pulls down her underpants. The dark hair between her legs is a shocking contrast to the pale skin, the sharp hipbones, and he watches as Sasha's fingers slip into her folds and scissor open to reveal her flushed, swollen clit.

She pushes the base of the dildo against herself and adjusts the strap. "There's like – there's a little nub back here, something I can rub against-" she cuts herself off with a gasp, fist wrapped around the base of the cock. "Yeah, right, theeeere we go." She reaches for Hamid and drags him onto her lap. "Think he likes it more when he can see your face, right?"

"Yea- oh." And Hamid goes silent as it hits him what this all actually is. This whole thing, this is more than simple jealousy on Sasha's part.

Nothing simple about it at all, really.

And then Sasha does the double-thrust thing Barret likes to do, gripping Hamid's hips and not pulling out any before shoving in further. As if to confirm his thesis, as if Hamid just got shoved into an ice-cold pool of water, as if the universe shrugged its shoulders and begrudgingly admitted that yeah, he was right about Sasha having some complicated identity feelings that she is working out through, of all the gods damned things, fucking Hamid with her Uncle's cock.

And Hamid has to laugh at that.

Sasha's eyes darken. She bares her teeth in a snarl. "Something funny?" She snaps her hips up viciously.

Hamid shakes his head no and bites down on his hand to stifle a moan. The underside of his cock rubs against the flat, hard plane of her stomach, and he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on that, the way it's starting to build into something pleasurable enough to make the edges of his mind start blurring, stop thinking.

Sasha's fingers dig into him, sharp points of pain lighting up his nervous system. "No, c'mon, what's so funny?" She pulls Hamid down to meet her thrusts, bouncing him up and down on her lap, the sound of it wet and obnoxiously loud.

"Just – you _have_ been studying him." Hamid laughs again, broken and shivering in Sasha's lap. She's doing the thing Barret does, angling him to fuck him in just the right way, and gods help him, it's working. "You've been _studying him so closely._ " He cuts himself off with a cry when her hand closes around his cock.

Sasha tugs him roughly while she rises up on her knees, putting more force into her movements and speeding up. Not satisfied until she makes him shout with each thrust.

She's panting through her mouth then, watching him as though any second now, she'll decide to rip out his throat. Instead she leans in close, so close, slowly forces him onto his back, helpless under her.

And Sasha, Sasha strikes at a vulnerable spot.

"Remember that one time you slipped?" she gets out. "The time you called him 'dad?'" Her teeth against his neck are as cold as the rest of her. They scrape against his collarbone when she laughs, the thick vinegary smell of bad liquor pouring from her lungs still. "He _loved_ it. Who wouldn't? Saleh al-Tahan's son, so _desperate_ for fatherly affection that he'd open his legs to anyone in Other London for it." She twists her hand at the top of Hamid’s cock, forcing a sob out of him. "I've never seen him give it to you as hard as he did that time."

Hamid hiccups in the middle of her name. "Sasha, please-"

Her voice drops a little, mockingly sweet. "You want _me_ to be your daddy here, 's that it? You gonna call me dad?"

Her thumb is pressing under the head of his cock, so hard it hurts and Hamid's writhing, so close and ricocheting back and forth between too much and not enough. "P-please, Miss – Mister Racket-"

It's an accident, a slip from his confused, overstimulated brain. Sasha pauses, though, slows her thrusts down to something that is less punishment and actually approaches pleasure, and it dawns on Hamid that he's thrown her off, made her have to recalibrate.

Hamid clutches her shoulders and lets her see him panting, lets her hear how desperately he whines. "Sir. Sir, please."

The rhythm of Sasha's hips stutters, loses its fluid ease. Her hand releases enough that he can ride her cock how he needs now. When she takes a breath to steady herself, he whimpers like he's in pain. "Please, B-Barret, gods, _Barret—_ "

His gambit pays off.

Sasha comes, all shaky little gasps, clinging to Hamid with a rough desperation her uncle's grip has never had. She rides out her orgasm with a rhythm that's nothing like Barret's, all slow circular grinds of her hips. She's pulled him close enough that he can rub up against her stomach, and it's not a lot, but it's enough, and he lets the sensation carry him over like a wave cresting over rocks.

A possessive rush startles him as his cock pulses onto her stomach and his, and Hamid realizes this, this belongs to him. This moment, this honesty from Sasha. This genuine awkwardness.

He desperately hopes she's left bruises.

She drops Hamid back onto the bed unceremoniously. He winces when she pulls out, and watches her undo the straps. Barret's cock drops off her, onto the sheets, and Sasha sits back on her heels.

For a moment, she stays there, panting for breath, and just looks at Hamid.

Her expression's unreadable, and there's a mess on his stomach that he's eager to clean, so. Hamid ignores her, finds a handkerchief nearby, and wipes himself off. There's a bit on Sasha as well. Hamid hesitates, and offers the handkerchief to her.

Sasha blinks, confused, and he mimics cleaning her off.

"Oh. Yeah. Right." She shuffles a bit closer, and he wipes his own come off her stomach. When he's done, Sasha sighs and slumps. "Thanks. Er."

"Yeah." Hamid folds the handkerchief neatly and places it on the bedside table. He reaches for his glass of water, slightly obscured by the empty bottle Sasha placed on the table. He takes a sip, thinks about it, and awkwardly offers the glass to her.

Sasha starts to reach for it, but stops. He watches her press her fingertips against it, frown at how much larger her hand is than the halfling-sized glass. In the end, she shakes her head. "Won't do much for me at this point. You have it."

Hamid does. He uses both hands around the glass, less for grip and more for comfort. Next to him, Sasha is still sitting back on her legs, staring at a fixed point somewhere off in space.

Hamid clears his throat. "Do you... want to..."

Sasha's head snaps up like he just pulled a knife on her.

"...talk about it?" Hamid finishes.

The short answer seems to be no. The long answer involves a flurry of Sasha pulling her clothes back on while chanting "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck" over and over. Hamid sighs and flops back down in the bed, staring up at the canopy.

He doesn't hear her leave, but he does hear her come back after almost forgetting Barret's dick, and dart back out again, knocking into the table. The bottle falls with a loud thunk, not breaking, just rolling somewhere Hamid will have to fish it out tomorrow. He's almost disappointed. Instead, he pulls the quilt back around himself, rolls over, and forces his mind blank until he falls back asleep.

\--

Barret slips into bed later, and Hamid wakes to the sound of a soft, satisfied sigh and Barret's cold hands tugging at him. Hamid's hindbrain knows this routine by now, and he shuffles in close and settles in against Barret's chest, under his chin, before even fully waking up.

"There's a good boy," Barret murmurs. He pulls Hamid in closer, wrapping the blankets around them both. A parody of cuddling, nothing but Barret leeching the warmth out of him.

Barret's cold hands roam over Hamid's skin lazily; they're so large compared to him. One of them spreads open against his back, and Hamid could swear it stretches from the curve of one rib to the other. Barret's other hand goes lower, curls around the base of Hamid's tail like a casual handhold. Icy enough to make Hamid gasp, and he feels Barret's lips curl in a smile against the top of Hamid's hair. The pinky presses against the underside of Hamid's tail, finds the sensitive spot near the base of his spine that makes him shudder, and slips past the buttoned waistband of Hamid's sleep pants into the cleft of his arse where Hamid is already sore.

Barret stops.

Hamid's breath freezes in his lungs.

Where Hamid is sore, and likely still a bit slick, and definitely still-

Barret presses his finger in.

-still pliant. Hamid whimpers and arcs helplessly into it.

He feels Barret's teeth against the top of his head, either a snarl or a grin. He pushes Hamid's waistband down. Under the quilt, Barret's hands are slightly warmer than they were, and they take the time to grope Hamid's arse, squeeze and massage.

"Well," Barret says, and how one syllable can carry such fascination and excitement, Hamid doesn't know.

He swallows down the fear and takes a breath. Still breathing, Hamid. This isn't a new game; it's just a different scenario, another level. He knows these rules, somewhat.

Hamid wraps his tail around Barret's wrist and whimpers a bit, hears the soft pleased growl that gets out of Barret.

Yeah. Hamid knows this game.


End file.
